


you a monster, baby, baby i want you

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Together they were dysfunctional as all hell, bringing out the ugliness inside each other. But as fiercely as they fought, they loved with equal passion. It wasn't ideal, but it was theirs.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	you a monster, baby, baby i want you

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.
> 
> title from Hey There by DeJ Loaf

Sometimes Brock was the pinnacle of perfection for Jack. A strict, intimidating commander that led with conviction and certainty who took only carefully calculated risks. He was strong and capable, confident and decisive. But then they stepped out of the field and the man who was once so cocksure was rendered to a mere shell of himself. He was pissy, petulant and moody. Indecisive and grumpy over the small inconveniences and Jack was expected to deal with it. He tried, he really did. But after the first few hours it started to get abrasive. Currently he was slamming the cupboard doors shut hunting for a particular bowl for an unnecessary bowl of cereal at three in the afternoon. 

Jack was trying to read. “Will you cut that out?” 

“It’s my fucking house.” 

“It’s my house too, Brock.” 

“Fuck off.” Another cupboard slammed shut. “It’s your fault. You always move shit.” 

Jack tried to be patient. He always tried and that was what was important at the end of the day. All he wanted was a peaceful day off and he couldn’t get that in his own goddamn house because Brock was being a bitch. 

“Shit wouldn’t get moved if you put it away.” 

Brock muttered something he couldn’t hear over the clatter of dishes as he shoved their dishes around as if the elusive bowl was hiding among them. Jack started to grind his teeth. Logically he should have removed himself from the situation, done that deep breathing shit that society shoved down people’s throats but each breath just lit up his already burning nerves. He wanted to get up and grab Brock, force him to be still, to be quiet. He could. He was capable, he’d done it before. Jack was weighing it if was worth the effort. Brock never went down easily, much less quietly, and Jack could already feel the startings of a headache. 

A dish burst against the floor in a cacophony of noise that made the startings of a headache into a full blown one. Jack’s jaw clenched even tighters, knuckles turning white he gripped his book so hard. He tried the deep breathing thing -- unsurprisingly it did little to quell the anger that was burning in his chest. Brock barked out a curse, grumbling as he cleaned up the dish. He listened to the top of the trash can slam shut and Brock went right back to rifling through every single cupboard. When he went so far as he to start to look through the pots and pans -- as though a bowl would ever be put down there -- Jack couldn’t sit still any longer. He threw down his book and prowled silently to the entryway between the living room and kitchen. Brock was crouching down, mumbling something Jack couldn’t hear over the clang and clatter. He waited for Brock to stand before he moved. 

The smaller man straightened up and Jack cut the space between them with one long stride, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other catching his right wrist and twisting his arm up to the center of his back, far enough to hurt but so far as to cause damage. Brock exhaled in one punched out breath of surprise and pain and he tried to twist around. Jack applied a bit more pressure to his arm and Brock grunted, stilling. 

“Would if kill you to be quiet?” Jack hissed, his fury searing his chest. His fingers tightened around Brock’s throat. “For just one. Fucking. Minute.” 

“You lost my -- ”

Jack twisted his arm until Brock yelped. “It’s my turn to speak, not yours. Keeping running your fucking mouth and you’ll walk out of this with a broken arm. Lets see how useful you are then, Rumlow.” 

Jack could feel the anger radiating from him, fury at how he deemed this to be unjust and unprovoked. Completely oblivious to how his juvenile behavior had affected Jack. Well, Jack thought, it was a good lesson to be taught. And Jack was looking forward to this opportunity to teach. Jack shifted closer so Brock could feel how close his body was, so Brock could know that he was completely under Jack’s control. It was a heady feeling, self satisfying, powerful. He could make Brock hurt; he could tear him down to nothing and build him back up in his perfect image. Jack’s mood shifted -- this was no longer a situation that needed to be handled, it was an opportunity, a chance to feel out just how far he could push Brock, how badly he could break him and still bring him out whole. Typically he would have backed off now having achieved Brock’s attention. 

But that felt so very unnecessary now. He had Brock at his mercy, under his control. He could do anything. He could make Brock hurt if he wanted to, could make him feel good too. It was up to Jack and Jack alone. Self importance caused his broad chest to swell wide and his cock started to thicken at the countless possibilities laid out before him. He could do anything he wanted with Brock. Could fuck him, could hurt him, could kill him. He wouldn’t kill him of course, that would be a waste of talent. And Jack did care for him; he was worth more alive than dead. So no, he wouldn’t kill him, even if it did promise peace and quiet for the future. He’d teach him a lesson though. 

“Jack,” Brock began, tone hard and commanding. 

Jack laughed -- did Brock really think he had any leverage in his current position? He was strong but his strength was working against him in such a position. A broken arm would leave him on the sidelines and once an agent got sidelined Hydra lost their interest. All his work, all his prestige, would be swept away all because he tried to get out of a hold. But Brock was smart, he wouldn’t try anything physically, he was going to try and disarm him verbally which wasn’t a bad strategy but Jack’s mind had already been made up. Brock wasn’t going to be walking away from this until a lesson had been drilled through to him. 

“Brock,” Jack countered, hand tightening. 

“Fuck off,” Brock’s voice was steady and certain but Jack could picture the panic in his amber eyes. 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” 

Brock tested the hold, a tightening of his muscles before he went lax and his head dropped forward a bit in frustration. Jack could hear his quicken breathes, his frustration making itself known without his consent. “Fine,” Brock hissed. “What the fuck do you want from me?” 

Jack liked the line of questioning. “I haven’t decided yet,” Jack let the sound of his smile seep into his words. He wanted Brock to know the happiness this brought him. “If you weren’t so goddamn noisy we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?” 

Brock hated to be talked down to and Jack made a point to do so. He could feel the man fuming in his hold. He didn’t like to be powerless and that was exactly what he was: Jack held all the power between them right now; Brock was at his disposal. Jack wedged his leg between his legs and Brock grunted a bit, low and frustrated as they tested their strength. Had Brock had more leverage he might have prevailed and locked Jack’s thigh from slotting between his legs. Brock grunted a bit as he put even further off balance. Jack could feel his dicks and balls against his leg. Brock huffed furiously but didn’t say anything. He was too proud to beg and that was one of Jack's favorite things about him. 

Jack relished in the power he had over Brock, that he was at his disposal. Brock tested his strength once more and huffed again. “See, look at how quiet you’re being,” Jack said. “Isn’t that so much better?” 

“Fuck off, Jack.” 

Jack tightened the fingers on his neck, indenting the flesh. He considered leaving bruises but decided against it. They’d be back in the field sooner than they’d heal and Jack didn’t want any questions directed at them. “How about I fuck you, instead?” 

Brock tried again to break free but Jack held fast, his attempts sparking nothing but amusement now he had the man in his hold. He was quiet -- did it really have to come to this to obtain peace? Jack ghosted his lips along his jaw and Brock’s teeth clicked together and started grinding. That drew a chuckle from Jack. How ironic it was that Jack was suddenly Brock’s ire and not the other way around. He caught his earlobe between his teeth and tugged, gently at first, and then dug his teeth into the soft flesh and jerked his head back roughly. Brock hissed sharply at the pain and Jack let go. He rested his chin idly on Brock’s shoulder, sighing out as though the entire situation was a nothing but a bore to him just to further infuriate the man. 

It worked, another furious, though half-hearted, attempt at breaking free. It was aborted with a squeeze to this neck and Brock dropped his head forward in defeat. “Do whatever you want, Rollins,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“Oh, I already intended to.” Jack took his time, lifting his chin from his shoulder and kissing his cheek. Brock twisted head away with a furious huff. Jack tutted, “So rude.” 

“If you’re gonna fuck me, do it.” Brock grit out furiously. “Do it or let me go.” 

“I don’t like to be rushed.” Jack shifted backwards a bit, not far enough to jeopardize the hold he had on Brock, but far enough to appreciate the body he was in full control of. 

Being commander required a body in top physical shape and they both were but Brock was over the top in every aspect of his life and that carried over into his workout regime. He was all sharp lines and hard muscles. Jack gave his neck a final squeeze before he snaked it around the front of him, popping the button of his jeans. He was teasing the fly down when Brock reared his head up and smashed the back of his head against Jack’s face. There was a sickening crunch as his nose broke and hot blood immediately ran from each nostril. Jack had enough training to hold his ground, hand flying to fist Brock’s hair and slam his head against the counter top. Jack spat blood to the floor. 

“And to think I was going to prep you.” His voice hadn’t lost it’s cool -- he himself was still very much in control. Pain was compartmentalized and would be dealt with later. All that mattered was accomplishing the task on hand. 

He pushed down the jeans and they fell readily, falling from Brock’s slim hips to the kitchen floor. Brock snarled from where his face was pressed against the granite. Jack ignored him as though he hadn’t made a noise. He may as well not have. Jack loosening the hold on his hair, paused, and gave his head another sharp smack against the counter. This time Brock groaned in pain. Confident in his control Jack let go of his hair and spit in his palm, an equal mixture of blood and saliva. He was already hard, had been since Brock busted his nose and he took himself in palm, stroking himself a few times in preparation. Jack led his cock to Brock’s hole and forced himself inside. Brock hissed, still conscious enough to be aware of what was happening to his body but too dazed to do much about it. 

Jack wished Brock could exist in this perfect middle ground whenever he wasn’t in the field. It would certainly be a blessing for him. Far less of a headache as well. 

Jack gave himself into the hot pressure around his cock as he fucked him. Every now and then Brock would groan and shift as if attempting to muster up the energy to get away from him. But all it took was one little tweak on his wrist to have him as harmless as a kitten. Jack didn’t hurry but he didn’t lag either. He indulged himself. He saw no need to draw out a punishment on Brock so he was going at his own pace. His free hand found its way to Brock’s face, index and middle fingers pushing at lips until they finally opened and he was able to thrust in time. Brock clumsily tried to bite and Jack got his fingers out in time. He slammed his head against the countertop and tried again. 

Brock didn’t try to bite. 

With cock engulfed in tight heat it wasn’t long before his balls drew up and he came. He thrusted through his orgasm, riding the high as he watched his commander beneath him, powerless. He was left boneless and sated. He let go to Brock wrist and hiked up his own pants. It took Brock a moment to reanimate. A shift, a groan, arm hanging free and lank. Jack sighed and helped him up. It took a moment for Brock’s eyes to focus -- a concussion but nothing serious. 

“You’re an asshole,” he rasped, life slowly returning to him. 

Jack shook his head with a laugh of disbelief. “After all of that you still want to piss me off?” 

Brock pressed his lips together and rubbed his wrist. Jack knew in a few short hours bruises would be blooming, a ring of purple and black. His cock twitched in interest but it was too soon to think about fucking him again so he put it out of mind. He went to the freezer to get a bag of peas, swiping blood from his face with his sleeve. He’d set his nose after Brock was icing his head in bed. As expected he protested the entire walk to the bedroom, complaining as he tucked into bed, and bitching when he was told he was expected to ice his head. Jack ended up hitting him in the head with the bag of peas when he claimed his head didn’t hurt. 

“Well it should hurt now,” he spit and Brock, with a sour expression on his face, took the bag. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“Where are you going?” Brock demanded, peas pressed against his forehead. He looked more steady now. 

“To set my nose.” 

“Oh.” Brock smiled. “Good.” 

If Jack had the bag of peas still he wouldn’t have given him a few more hits just for that. Instead he sighed heavily and went to the bathroom and set the cartilage as straight as he could and taped it up. He stared at himself in the mirror. He’d have two black eyes in the morning but when the sun rose and a new day began so would Brock and Jack. Left over bruises would be disregarded as they both told themselves it wouldn’t happen again. Jack knew better though. It wasn’t an if, it was a when. 

Together they were dysfunctional as all hell, bringing out the ugliness inside each other. But as fiercely as they fought, they loved with equal passion. It wasn't ideal, but it was their.


End file.
